


Show Me How You Burlesque

by thepizzasitter



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barduil - Freeform, Basically this whole thing is going to be filthy, Biting, Bottom Bard, Burlesque, Caring Thranduil, Corsetry, Dirty Dancing, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, I'll add tags as needed, Lace Panties, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Making Love, Oral Sex, Rimming, Smitten Bard, Smut, Stockings, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Thranduil and Bard are both crushing harder than a twelve year old girl, Top Thranduil, Topping from the Bottom, as a side pairing, bagginshield, still don't know how the heck those things manage to go together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 08:31:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4997902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepizzasitter/pseuds/thepizzasitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The stage in the center of the room suggested the thudding music was just a prelude to something altogether more enticing. The lavish decor was made for lounging, though it was obvious the arrangement could certainly withstand more vigorous activity. Scantily clad women and men alike were roaming the floor, picking their favored patrons in preparation for the performances that were soon to begin if Bilbo and Dain’s enthusiastic glances at the stage were any indication. Bard felt like he’d just walked onto Mars, for all this environment was so foreign to him." Barduil Stripper!AU in which Thranduil wears lacy things, Bard is completely smitten, and Thorin just wants to enjoy Bilbo's company without pesky dancers interrupting them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good Girl

**Author's Note:**

> This post (http://breathingbarduil.tumblr.com/post/128059186834/so-ive-recently-jumped-fully-aboard-the-barduil) reminded me that every fandom needs at least a dozen stripper (and variations of the theme) AUs because hello…stripper AU! What’s not to like? I’ve seen everything from smut to fluff to angst to dark and beyond. It’s such a versatile genre. Hence, watching a particular movie had me thinking about Thranduil strutting his stuff in something very, very lacy to ‘I’m A Good Girl’ by Christina Aguilera (trust me, go watch the video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YDPR5EoYqOs) and Bard not knowing what just hit him. These two are freakin' made for each other, good grief! The second part will be up very soon. Any mistakes are mine, considering I wrote this at two in the morning. My Tumblr name is kesstiel, and I have lots of fics and drabbles there for your perusal. Enjoy!

_"Underneath the city lights, there is a world few know about; where rules don't apply, and you can't keep a good girl down." ~Christina Aguilera, Burlesque._

\---

The smell of alcohol permeated the air, twining around the inhabitants of the club like a long-time lover. The heat was nearly unbearable, the sweat-slicked bodies moving, grinding, rubbing--friction. Music pulsed through the collective mass, affecting both the group and the individual as an erotic beat was wont to do.

The stage in the center of the room suggested the thudding music was just a prelude to something altogether more enticing. The lavish decor was made for lounging, though it was obvious the arrangement could certainly withstand more vigorous activity. Scantily clad women and men alike were roaming the floor, picking their favored patrons in preparation for the performances that were soon to begin if Bilbo and Dain’s enthusiastic glances at the stage were any indication.

Bard felt like he’d just walked onto Mars, for all this environment was so foreign to him.

"Right, laddie! Drinks are on me! Welcome…" Dain paused dramatically, and Bard’s frown nearly cracked at how proud his friend seemed of this place. "To Erebor." Grinning, he mock-bowed, allowing the mechanic to hesitantly walk past him into the heart of the club. All in all, it was fairly classy, as far as strip clubs went. There was private seating--and if he was any judge of space, there was probably a set of rooms as well--a well-stocked bar, several lounges, side stages, and the main stage. In a way, it felt nearly theatrical, though he supposed the neon sign boasting the burlesque theme of the club would have explained that.

He was definitely not cut out for having friends. He'd evaded the club scene thus far--a miracle, really, with how often Dain, Maggie, and Bilbo went out--but all of his excuses hadn't been able to save him from this doomed, miserable fate. Never let it be said Bilbo Baggins couldn't persuade, guilt, blackmail, and puppy-eye anyone he wanted. Then again, Bard really did want to meet his friend’s new interest. Bilbo was usually so quiet, not prone to going out unless dragged kicking and screaming (oh, how he sympathized) and it had been more or less of a shock that his lover was a stripper. When Bard asked for that story, Bilbo had blushed to the nines and simply invited him along to meet his Thorin Oakenshield. Dain was apparently beyond pleased, seeing a dear friend and his cousin making eyes at each other, and had taken it upon himself to use his clout at Erebor to get the two together. Not that they’d needed much help. It had been weeks of _‘Thorin this’_ and _‘Thorin that.’_ Bard was eager to put a face with the name that made Bilbo’s expression go absolutely dreamy.

“What’ll it be, Bard? Anythin’ strikin’ yer fancy?” Dain smirked at him, and Bard rolled his eyes.

“Let me pick an actual drink first, and then I’ll tell you if there’s anyone worth mentioning, for goodness sake!” He laughed, and the redhead clapped him on the shoulder.

“That’s a lad! Dori! Mind gettin’ my boy here some spirits?” He hollered at a bartender, and the older man tossed them a wink and slid two glasses filled with something down the length of the bar.

“Anytime!” Dain raised his drink in Dori’s direction and toasted Bard.

“To yer bairn’s first adventure away from home and to ye finally takin’ a bit o’ holiday! Ye’ve earned it!” They clinked glasses and Bard couldn’t help but feel a quick flash of longing in his chest. His beautiful children were all away for the first time at camp. He’d saved and pinched pennies for nearly two years to be able to afford to send them, but it had been worth it to watch their faces light up in joy brighter than the sun as they all shouted over each other to thank him and begin making plans for their trip.

He missed them so fiercely already.

“Bard?” Bilbo’s gentle voice drew him from sweet laughter and innocent wonder. “Ah, thinking about your little ones?”

“How’d you guess?” He smiled, blinking as he remembered where he was. He nearly snorted at the contrast between his thoughts and his environment.

“There’s only one thing that can put that look on your face, and it’s your family. Doesn’t take a genius to see that.” Bilbo grinned and gestured to some seats close to the stage. “Still, I’m not sure how much fun you’ll have tonight if you’re busy worrying about them. I saved us some seats up front so we can see every detail of the show.”

Bard smirked wickedly. “You mean so that _you_ can see every detail of a particular performer _in_ the show?”

The thoroughly haughty sniff Bilbo gave had Bard nearly cackling. His friend shoved his arm, growing redder by the minute. “Nevermind! I don’t know why I bother with any of you hooligans! I am going to go get a drink and pretend I don’t know either of you!” He huffed, sticking his nose up and Bard laughed.

“I think you’ll find a better friend in Maggie,” he stage-whispered. “I just saw her walk in. Better you deal with her than me when she hunts me down like a bloodhound.”

Bilbo craned his neck, seeking out their fourth party until he spotted her, darting forward with a cry of “Maggie, darling!” Bard shook his head, chuckling to himself as he turned back to the stage. He settled on one of the couches, sipping his drink while he waited for everyone to join him.

It wasn’t what he was used to, and he shuddered to think of his children accidentally hearing about whatever escapades were sure to ensue with his boisterous group, but Bard was feeling far more relaxed now that he was actually here. The rhythm was intoxicating, even more-so than the alcohol, and the loose mood of the crowd massaged away any hesitance he’d had.

When his friends joined him, the excitement only grew. Maggie squealed and nearly spilled her drink in her rush to hug him and proclaim it about time that he left his nest to join them for some action. Perhaps there was some merit to that. It had been too long since he’d had some time to himself, though he wasn’t entirely sure strip clubs were on his list of _‘places I want to go in my free time.’_

Nodding, he settled back as the announcer promised something hotter than the flames of a forge, and the crowds went wild as Thorin and his troupe stepped onto the stage.

The entire performance was thoroughly enjoyable, if a little forgettable. Bard found himself liking the intense music, admiring the beautiful men writhing and slowly losing their clothing bit by bit. He could definitely see why Bilbo was smitten with the dancer. He turned to say so, only to find riveted looks on his trio’s faces. Dain was staring at one of the women on stage with more than a hint of interest, and Maggie looked like she couldn’t decide between the same woman or the blonde haired dancer to Thorin’s left. Bilbo...well, Bard suddenly found himself having to re-think Bilbo’s sweet nature, considering the looks he was throwing Thorin were absolutely _predatory_. If the way Thorin kept meeting his eyes as he slowly unlaced the front of his pants was any indication, the dancer definitely didn’t mind.

He took another sip of his drink to hide his giggle--honestly, he did not _giggle_ at the thought of Bilbo having a hidden penchant for topping--and turned his attention back to the stage. By the time Thorin and his company were through, Bard was fairly certain he was about to lose at least two of his friends for the night. Bilbo immediately tugged him up, beaming and hurriedly rushing them all towards the side of the stage, where they were greeted with a warm look from Thorin.

“Bilbo! I didn’t know you’d be here tonight. Did you finish the translation you were working on?” Bard was reminded of how Tilda would draw people in love with hearts for eyes. Bilbo certainly looked more than a little smitten.

“Not yet, but I’d much rather see you anyways. I’ll finish it in the morning. Thorin, these are my friends. You already know Dain, of course, and this is Maggie Anderson.” Thorin shook her hand firmly before turning to Bard with a friendly clap on the shoulder.

“You must be Bard. Bilbo speaks very highly of you. Any friends of his are welcome here.” Their handshake nearly made a very tipsy Bilbo cry.

“Sorry, sorry! It’s just...I’m so happy you came tonight, Bard! I know it’s not really your thing, but Thorin is so important and I hoped you’d want to meet him and--” The shorter man had squeezed them both, and Thorin’s enraptured expression as he drew back assured Bard that Bilbo had found someone worthy of a Baggins.

“I’ll leave you both to catch up,” Bard said, throwing them both a wink. “There are more performances, aye?”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Nothing special, no matter if it’s the main event tonight or not.”

Bard raised a brow in question. Thorin shrugged.

“Just Thranduil and some of his lot for the rest of the night. Trust me, not worth your time. Better to make friends with some of the bartenders. They’re all the good sort.” Bilbo shook his head, clearly in disagreement, but said nothing.

“Thank you for the advice. I think I’ll watch at least a little, and then go meet some of the admirable folk I keep hearing about,” Bard said easily, and Thorin nodded.

“Be sure to seek out Dwalin at some point and let him know you’re on our honored guest list from here on out. He’s the bouncer with the tattoos.” He put up a hand when he saw Bard’s skeptical expression. “Believe me, you’ll know him when you see him.”

He certainly wasn’t wrong.

The bouncer was suitably terrifying. All tattoos, shaved head, and built like a tank. His eyes narrowed at rowdy club-goers who came too close without his say-so, promising retribution to anyone who dared even look at him wrong. His demeanor shifted readily enough when Bard introduced himself, and the two had an amiable chat about weapons--Dwalin’s metal work and Bard’s archery--before the bouncer had to leave to break up a fight outside in line.

Bard found himself at a loss. Dain was talking with the woman from the stage, Maggie had barely said goodbye before she’d toted the blonde and presumably his brother off to the private section of the club, and Bilbo certainly wasn’t going to have eyes for anyone but Thorin tonight. With few options, he wandered back over to his seat by the stage, and waited for the next show to begin.

Another drink later, and the lights dimmed once more. He was suddenly very aware that his friends were not beside him, and he was surrounded by strangers directly in front of the stage that was beginning to brim over with color. There was no hope for their company, and it set something uneasy and anticipatory loose low in his belly. This time, the stage reflected the club’s namesake. _Erebor Burlesque_ , known for some of the highest quality dancers, drew only rave reviews from its patrons, and the care that went into just the set-up was immense.

Bard felt like he’d actually been transported to another era entirely. The atmosphere grew in anticipation, and an accented voice easily commanded the attention of every single person in the club as she announced the main show.

_“Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between. From the former halls of Mirkwood, we have a very special show for you tonight. Known to many as the Elvenking for his unparalleled beauty, I am pleased to introduce Thranduil Oropherion, for your raucous, carnal pleasure!”_

If Thorin had the crowd’s voices, the creature that stepped on stage had the audiences goddamned _souls_. The noise that rose from the club goers was near deafening, but as quickly as it started, it faded to silence when the sole inhabitant of the stage started singing in a deep, throaty voice that could have brought a mountain to its knees. Bard barely even registered the wild cat calls and wolf whistles from around him before he was utterly captivated by the man before him.

Long, luxurious white gold hair cascaded over his shoulder to brush his lower stomach. He was sprawled on a richly laden chaise barely long enough to contain his body. Elaborate burlesque attire that looked more expensive than every last drop of liquor at the bar combined only added to his command over the room. Black lacy stockings adorned strong legs that immediately had Bard aching to be settled between them, worshipping the milky skin of his chest and neck, barely covered by a tight silver corset studded with jewels. The garment had a flowing train at the bustle that caressed the floor. It glittered under the stage lights, as did the gaudy feathers and top hat on his head. Each piece was carefully distressed; the stockings ripped and attached with a garter belt to silver and blue panties that barely left anything to the imagination, yet somehow weren’t quite sheer enough to give the audience precisely what they wanted. They matched his eyes, ice and cold fire. The glittering accents and delicate chains looping throughout the costume paled in comparison to the fierce, playful smirk he graced the crowd with when he turned sharply to look at them over his shoulder.

He’d challenged them, this king among mere subjects, claimed them as his own, and the performance had barely even started.

Bard had never been harder in his _life_.

The rush of lust that consumed him was electrifying, shattering and decadent in a way that left him scrambling to try and pick up the shards of his coherency. Bard wanted him--with such shocking fervor it would have made him blush like a beet if he hadn’t been so distracted--so badly he very nearly embarrassed himself by almost upending his drink onto his lap when his hands shook.

He caught it in time, only to glance back up and find the action had drawn the dancer’s attention like a hawk to its prey. Those all consuming eyes turned on him and he felt the breath rush from him in a dizzying punch from his lungs, caught and helpless under Thranduil’s watch.

“I’m a good girl,” he rumbled, biting his lip as he looked up at Bard from under long lashes, only to belie the statement when he turned to saunter up a set of stairs, turning only to tease a captivated crowd with glances of his backside, barely covered by the flimsy material of his undergarment. Bard was nearly panting with the effort it took to keep himself where he was, thoughts of falling to his knees before Thranduil skittering through his mind. He wanted to bury his face between the soft cheeks and push his tongue into him, tease and spread the other man’s legs wide, hold him there until that voice was ragged and begging him to finish what he’d started. He’d never done that for anyone--never even found it _appealing_ enough to try--but hell if he wouldn’t give it a go for Thranduil.

Another quick movement had the dancer spreading his legs, laid out along the steps, thrusting his hips once, reminiscent of the unbearable need to be just a little deeper in a warm, wet mouth. God, the places he wanted to lick on Thranduil’s body were endless. He wondered if Thranduil was the type to bite his wrist, desperately trying to keep quiet when getting his cock sucked, or if his moans of appreciation would spill into the quiet of a room, uncaring if anyone heard him in the throes of need.  
Bard hardly spared a glance when more dancers came onstage. Each were beautiful in their own right, but none could even remotely compare to Thranduil. _Elvenking indeed._

Sinuous hips twirled and rolled back to connect with the pole at the center of the stage, arching his back against it, all while looking directly at Bard. It couldn’t be coincidence. He was the only one on the couch, and he wasn’t drunk enough to mistake that eager gaze for anything other than the invitation it was.

_Look at me._

He was, _fuck_ , he _was_. He couldn’t drag his eyes away if he tried. The dancer flipped his hair back and practically writhed against the pole, sultry and playful as he shook his ass, just enough to have the audience eating out of the palm of his hand. He sauntered across the stage, stepping easily across the gap between the platform and the bar, weaving through grasping hands and full glasses. A redheaded bartender laughed and slid a glass down for him to kick back into her waiting hands. 

Bard couldn’t help the grin that threatened to split his face in two when Thranduil approached a thoroughly annoyed Thorin towards the end of the bar, where Bilbo was gaping at the blonde in appreciative wonder. The dancer leaned down to pat Thorin on the head, which the shorter man swatted away with a heavy sigh of weary indulgence. He jerked his head back towards the stage, muttering something that Thranduil ignored completely.

He eventually seemed to lose interest in the bar, tipping a chair to help him ride the way down in the smoothest movement Bard had ever witnessed. He clenched his hands against his thighs to stop himself from palming his erection through his uncomfortably tight jeans. Not many others were showing the same courtesy; more than one hand was snaked beneath pants and skirt to provide relief against the onslaught of desire caused by this one creature.

Thranduil had hoisted himself back onstage, only to begin prowling towards the edge of it, directly in front of where Bard sat, breathing hard and desperate to be touched. Slowly, ever so slowly, Thranduil sank to his knees in front of him, head thrown back once in time with the music, before he looked back to Bard, a hand traveling down to stroke at his own neck and down the front of the corset, deftly unlacing it while his other hand ran up over his thigh, tugging at the straps of the garter belt. Bard would have been utterly mortified by the whimper he escape him if they’d been anywhere but here, where his sound of distress was drowned out by the wild crowd and the music.

But he knew Thranduil knew. The blonde smirked like he’d won something and shifted closer, sliding over the edge of the stage to stand before the mechanic, eyes so much brighter and welcoming from this angle. Bard thought he might pass out, right there, when Thranduil stepped closer and the unlaced corset slipped down just enough to show off more pale skin and deliciously peaked nipples. His mouth watered and his eyes darted back up to Thranduil’s face, knowing it was no good. It was already far, _far_ too late.

Thranduil closed the remaining distance between them, sinking down onto Bard’s lap as he stroked the back of his hand along Bard’s jawline. His voice was pitched intimately, though the whole club could hear, as he rocked, ever so slightly, against Bard, letting him feel the proof that he wasn’t the only one affected. He drew out the words, insisting that he wasn’t easy, wasn’t the needy thing in Bard’s lap.

“I am a _good_ girl,” he purred, baring his neck to moan out the last obscene sounds of his song, before he threw his head back completely and the lights went completely black, the song over and done.

Less than a half a beat of buzzing silence later, the audience erupted into shouting and applause, their approval a nearly tangible thing when the lights slowly flickered back to normal.

Bard was left--wide-eyed and painfully aroused--with a lapful of Thranduil, who was looking at him with a mixture of interest and regret.

_Oh…_

The crash was far more painful than he’d anticipated.

He closed his eyes for a moment, soaked in the contact as quickly as he could, and managed put on a fairly convincing a smile. “So,” he asked, a playful tone helping ease his irrational disappointment. There was nothing to lose; nothing to be disappointed over. “You come here often?”

The other man looked shocked for a moment before he let out a startled laugh, which nearly had Bard moaning at the way the movement pressed their bodies together. Thranduil seemed to realize it too, and sobered quickly. His expression was baffled, but there was genuine amusement in his voice when he replied.

“I just crawled into your lap like a five dollar tart off the street--without your permission I might add, which I am really very sorry for. I don’t know why I--I don’t usually-- _truly_ , I meant no offence. I suppose I just got...carried away a little. But really? Of all the things to say, you go with the most awful pick up line in the book?” The quirk of his lips was a rare thing, Bard could tell. It made him a little braver, knowing that he’d put it there.

“Seemed like it might diffuse the tension.” He shrugged, heart clenching at the small frown Thranduil adopted before the lines smoothed out into an impassive, assessing stare.

“I see. Well, in that case, you have my sincerest apologies. I won’t trouble you further. I just need to--” he moved to stand up, and Bard couldn’t stand it. His grip tightened, just a little, on the dancer’s waist, before he could stop the reaction. The moment Thranduil was off of him, he knew he’d feel bereft. He fit there like he belonged, no matter how ridiculous the notion seemed. And it was a very ridiculous notion, but...

He immediately let go, ashamed and face flushing with realization, before he became aware that Thranduil was looking at him with a tentatively hopeful look in his eyes. The other slowly settled himself back down, legs splayed over Bard’s and the mechanic shuddered when they rubbed against each other through the confines of their clothes.

“ _Oh_ ,” he breathed, and when he managed to open his eyes, he found Thranduil staring at him with the same look as…

Bilbo. He had the same glazed expression Bilbo got around Thorin. But that couldn’t…

“What is your name? It seems only fair, considering you now know mine.”

“Bard,” he said, clearing his throat when it came out rough and ragged. “Bard Bowman. It’s a...pleasure to meet you.” They shared a wry smile, and Bard’s brain had surely short-circuited, because Thranduil suddenly leaned forward and he felt soft lips trace along his cheek to his jaw, nose skimming the line of it in a way that had Bard instantly rock hard again from where he’d finally started to reign himself in.

“Bard,” Thranduil repeated, and oh god that voice carrying his name on it was better than any music. “I would make it a pleasure, if you would let me.” The mechanic jolted under him, eyes wide and mouth slack at the implication.

“I--”

“Normally clients and dancers are offered the back rooms if they arrive at a mutually acceptable arrangement, but...I’m not asking about a business transaction.” He looked down a moment, unsure, and the expression looked out of place on him. This was a man who was clearly used to knowing what he wanted, and then reaching out and taking it. It made Bard feel oddly warm and wanted, to know that Thranduil was asking. For what, he wasn’t sure, but he was _asking_.

As if Bard’s answer was anything but yes.

“My place or yours then?” He asked, voice low, and he allowed himself a brief moment to run his fingers through the other’s hair. _So soft._ Thranduil’s eyes slipped shut and he leaned onto the touch.

“Mine. It’s close enough to walk back to get your car, though I’d be happy to drive you in the morning,” he offered. Bard’s heart thud heavily in his chest, thinking about what could happen between now and then that would be the reason for him walking back on his own.

So many roadblocks and reasons to bow out, but they were all a dim background noise against his desire. “Yours it is,” he agreed breathlessly, and when Thranduil stood and reached out a hand to pull him up, at least the distance between their bodies was temporary.

He texted his friends to let them know where he’d be, and he couldn’t be blamed for the wide smile that didn’t want to leave his face when he heard Bilbo and Maggie cheer from somewhere in the crowd.


	2. Bound To You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! This one was, of course, inspired by the song "Bound to You" (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7i2SupYmXpI) from Burlesque. At first I thought the sex was going to be wild and fierce, until I started writing. They seemed to want to take things a little slower, make things a little more passionate, while still maintaining the level of want from the first chapter. How does fluff and hardcore smut even work together? I dunno, I just do what they want. All mistakes are a result of my exhausted state. Please feel free to point anything out. Enjoy darlings!

There is something to be said for a slow, thorough seduction, complete with dinner, wine, and soft music while two people talk, their conversation leading to clothes strewn across the floor and sighs echoing down the hall.

There is also something to be said for forgoing that, and pinning one’s lover to the door upon entry.

Bard found his back against the door and a warm body pressed along his front within seconds of the door being shut. He moaned quietly, grateful he wouldn’t have to spend half the night focusing on not going stir crazy from anticipation. He let the slow heat take him, relaxing against the wood of the door, pliant and willing beneath Thranduil’s assault on his senses. Their lips met, so careful and so different from the rabid lust that had nearly consumed them in the club. Thranduil kissed him like it was all he wanted to do for the rest of the week, like he was savoring something he rarely indulged in, though the thought was ridiculous. Bard couldn’t imagine a universe where Thranduil was not kissed daily, where the world did not see a dazzling jewel in the midst of dirt and rock.

He nipped at Thranduil’s bottom lip, tugging a bit to invite the taller man in. He sighed when Thranduil slid his tongue along his own, teasing and enticing until Bard could barely remember where he was. He let Thranduil tangle their fingers and draw their arms above them, pressing so fully against the dancer that he could feel the rapid thud of his heart. He shifted a bit, bringing their hips closer together. Thranduil broke away with a pleased sound when their erections brushed through their jeans. “Fuck, Bard,” he whispered, eyes glazed and mouth a sweet red from their kisses.

“Aye,” Bard laughed breathlessly. “That’s the general idea.”

“Cheeky.” Thranduil brought their mouths together again, drinking in Bard’s laughter. He stroked lovingly at Bard’s wrists, fingers encircling the pulse he could feel there, before he moved his hands down, slowly, slowly, to remove Bard’s jacket with a care that sent a jolt of longing skittering through the mechanic, realizing that those incredible hands would surely and easily take him apart by the end of the night.

When his jacket had met its resting place on the floor, Thranduil leaned in, forehead brushing his and voice so low Bard could feel it more than hear it.

“Bedroom?”

He trembled, the tension feeling like a living thing beneath his skin, desperately scrambling to escape into the darkness of the house. He nodded, and found himself being picked up, legs immediately winding around Thranduil’s waist while he rolled his eyes.

“Show off,” he muttered, grinning like a loon and utterly betraying his enjoyment of Thranduil’s height. The other merely hummed in agreement and took his mouth in another, more heated kiss.

“It is my job to show off. It is my pleasure to show off for _you_ ,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face before those lips were brought to Bard’s neck, pressing open kisses against the column and making Bard shudder in his arms. Thranduil’s nose skimmed along his jawline, peppering his throat with licks and gentle bites, careful to leave him unmarked for the time being. “But what if I were to say that my performance tonight has left me wanting to reclaim a bit of my own? I may love corsets and stockings and pretty things of every sort, but to an audience...well, assumptions are often made and I felt that more keenly tonight than usual.”

Bard ran his fingers through soft hair and kissed the dancer’s temple, moving to lay more over his eyelids, his nose, his cheeks and the corner of his mouth. It felt far more intimate, being here, than it had any right to be. The circumstances of their meeting should not yield such a desire to learn about this man, his world and the things he felt in the everyday, and yet it was all Bard wanted. He wanted, more than anything, to extend their time beyond the night, into the day where trysts and seduction held less sway--where he could see if the tugging sensation in his chest was an indication of something he hadn’t felt for another person for a very long time.

“I suppose I’d say you have nothing to prove to me and I’d very much like it if you took me in said stockings at a later date,” Bard mused cheekily, delighted when it elicited a beautiful laugh from the other.

“I’d call you presumptuous if I wasn’t already craving the same thing.” Bard realized that they’d reached Thranduil’s room only when he found himself very unceremoniously dropped onto softer sheets than he’d ever felt before. He grinned and rolled over onto his stomach, groaning in pleasure at the plushness of the pillows.

“Call me anything you like so long as I get to keep snuggling this pillow,” he said, voice muffled.

“Oh, I see how it is. Never thought I’d see the day where I was jilted for my own furniture. And here I thought you were with me for my body,” Thranduil snarked, running elegant fingers over Bard’s back, just under his shirt, making him wriggle and press against the mattress with a low noise of want. He turned back over, catching Thranduil’s hands and pulling him to straddle his hips, watching the dancer’s eyelashes flutter just a bit when he shifted his hips up to thrust against him.

“Aye,” Bard said roughly, starting a slow, steady undulation that was almost too much with the way he’d been on edge all night. “That as well. And for what might run deeper, if you’re willing to...to give it a try.” He waited, breath stilled, hoping he hadn’t ruined the mood. He didn’t want to do one night. Not with this man. He didn’t know anything about him, but _god_ he wanted to. If it came to nothing, and they were anything but compatible, he could live with that. But he would never forgive himself if he didn’t at least ask.

Thranduil’s eyes were tracking his every movement, searching and darting across his face, heat and want and pleasure and _more_ held within them.  
“Please,” he whispered, closing his eyes and leaning back to start moving again, long rolls of his hips, moaning softly when Bard brought his hands up to run along strong thighs to his waist. “Yes, I am willing. Want you any way I can have you.”

“Fuck,” Bard hissed, rolling them so suddenly that even he was disoriented for a moment. He rucked up the material of Thranduil’s shirt, skimming fingers along tense muscles that quivered under his touch. “This all need to come off _now_.”

Another day they would have the time and patience to undress each other. The thorough exploration of the other’s body would come soon enough, but now there was nothing save for the absolute need to feel skin against skin. Shoes and shirts and pants were lost to dark corners of the room, and eager eyes took in as much of each other as possible before Bard scrambled back onto the bed, trying to remember how to breathe as he took in the utterly devastating beauty of his lover.

 _Beyond words_ , he thought, only to watch the expression on Thranduil’s face shift into something soft and pleased. Ah, he’d said that out loud then.

“I was rather thinking the same,” he said, crawling up the length of the bed, placing idle kisses along Bard’s thighs, his stomach, his chest. His tongue darted out to lap at peaked nipples, squeezing his eyes shut when Bard sucked in a sharp, shuddering breath at the sensation. “I won’t be able to go slow if you keep making sounds like that,” he admitted, moving down to mouth at sharp hipbones and the crease of his thigh.

“And I-- _oh!_ I won’t last long if you put your mouth anywhere near there right now.” Thranduil smirked, and let Bard draw him back up to settle over him, every line of them intimately spread against the other. Bard rolled his hips in retaliation, earning a low growl of need from Thranduil. The blue of the dancer’s eyes had nearly vanished, his pupils blown and dark and doing nothing to hide his desire to _take_. Bard let his head roll back, making a small noise of encouragement when Thranduil mouthed at his neck, wet and _goodsogood_.

The pace of their thrusts was nearly hypnotic, nothing that they needed and everything they wanted. Bard bit his lip again, hard enough to draw blood when Thranduil tugged at the shell of his ear and whispered gentle words of praise as they found a rhythm that worked for them.

“Bard,” he finally murmured. “Please.”

“Anything,” Bard promised recklessly. And he meant it. Thranduil could ask for anything he wanted, and Bard couldn’t imagine it being less than amazing with that voice swimming through his head and those hands playing his body like a maestro and his instrument. “Anything you want. Please, just touch me.”

Thranduil moaned and snaked his hand between them, taking them both in hand. Bard cried out, pressing up to rock them together on each stroke. Thranduil took complete advantage and immediately waged another assault on his neck. “If only you could see how beautiful you look like this,” the dancer murmured against his collarbone. Bard jolted and whimpered at the next stroke. “You offer me anything, but I’d much rather hear what it is that _you_ want.” The feeling of Thranduil’s hand on him was too much, too good, too--

"You. _Fuck_ , I want _you_." He didn't realize he said it for a moment, because that half-strangled, pleading voice didn't sound like his. And yet it was. "Need-- _ah!_ " Thranduil’s nail slid along the slit of his cock and he nearly spilled right there. “Need you in me, want you to fuck me into the mattress and then push right back in when we wake up tomorrow morning. Want to come with you inside me,” he panted, trapping Thranduil’s wrists between his hands and pulling them away to kiss each palm.

“Oh god,” Thranduil moaned, leaning up to kiss Bard fiercely, drinking deeply from those soft lips. He reached blindly towards his side table, breaking their kiss with a growl of frustration to search for what they needed. 

Bard turned over, pressing his face into the pillow to try and control his breathing when he heard the snick of a cap and the tear of foil. He was trembling, his entire body aching to be filled by the other man, and he felt he might implode when Thranduil leaned over him, pressing his chest along Bard’s back to kiss the side of his neck.

“I’ll prep you like this, but…” He hesitated, and Bard nodded against the cool fabric of the pillow.

“Aye, me too,” he answered the unspoken question.

Bard had to bite the pillow when slick fingers teased at his entrance, shifting his hips up a little to ease the pressure building low in his belly. He sighed in relief and relaxed his tense posture when a finger carefully pushed in. It had been so long since he’d been with anyone at all, but his body knew this stretch, and he craved more before he’d even gotten used to the second finger Thranduil added.

“More,” he breathed, mewling when his request was granted. “Yes, right there!” His skin felt too small for his craving, each flick against his prostate only serving to drive him wild with how badly he needed to come. “I’m ready, fuck me before I roll us over and ride you,” he groaned, unashamed of the desperate sounds spilling from the back of his throat.

“ _Fuck_ , Bard. Turn over, I want to see you,” Thranduil gasped, withdrawing his fingers and waiting until Bard had rolled over to grab the bottle beside him again. One of his hands stroked over himself while the other reached up to grasp one of Bard's hands, fingers twining as he began to press into Bard.

They both cried out, backs arched and Bard felt spilt in two with the way Thranduil’s eyes glazed over as he watched himself push into his lover. He withdrew, only to press a little deeper, until they were fully joined. He stilled, arms shaking with restraint while he waited for Bard to adjust. He leaned down for a kiss and pressed their foreheads together, feeling the way the muscles of his stomach jumped when Bard glided his hands along the narrow curve of his hips.

“Move,” Bard pleaded, and Thranduil was more than eager to oblige. He pulled out, thrusting back in when Bard squeezed his hand, their skin slick and voices ragged and helpless to the onslaught of sensation crackling between them. Bard wrapped his legs around Thranduil’s thighs, hands grabbing the supple swell of his ass to pull him in deeper, practically writhing when Thranduil tilted just so to brush his prostate.

He suddenly found himself turning, tucked against Thranduil’s chest so he could roll them over, Bard held close and still connected. Thranduil gave a shuddery breath and guided Bard’s hands to his chest, using his own to hold onto Bard’s hips possessively while he drove into him. Bard nearly screamed, the feeling of pleasure and fullness overwhelming. He ground down in time with Thranduil’s thrusts, riding him, legs shaking and faltering as he drew close to the edge. _So close._

Thranduil leaned up, wrapping his arms around the other, breathing hard into his neck as he let Bard take over, let the waves of pleasure break over him as they chased their finish.

“Oh god, it feels--you’re so deep, it’s so good, gonna come, can’t--”

“Yes,” he whispered, kissing sloppily at Bard’s neck, pushing a hand between them to stroke Bard once, twice, before he came, gripping tightly to Thranduil’s arms and burying his face in soft hair as his orgasm ripped through him. The movement was enough to bring Thranduil to his own end, Bard’s name given over to the stillness of the night.

The air from an open window was soothing against heated skin, and the world moved ever onward outside of it.

The ringing in their ears eventually faded, their breaths still harsh when Thranduil pressed his face in closer against Bard’s neck, and the mechanic gently kissed the other’s forehead.

“Wow,” Bard said, sounding dazed, and Thranduil laughed, kissing the dip of his collarbone. They stayed entwined for a while longer, before finally Thranduil leaned back, slipping out of Bard with a bereft sigh.

Bard laid next to him, settling onto his side and combing his fingers through silky hair, enjoying the satisfied look on Thranduil’s face.

“I’ll be taking you up on that offer in the morning,” Thranduil rumbled, sounding thoroughly debauched. Bard grinned.

“I’m counting on it,” he agreed. “And if you happen to have those stockings on when you do, you certainly won’t hear me complaining.”

Thranduil hummed his approval, laying his head on Bard’s chest, dozing lightly for a while until a thought occurred to him.

“Bard?”

“Hm?” Nearly asleep, then. He smiled, feeling more content than he had in a very long time. Perhaps this could last. God, he hoped it did.

“Would _you_ consider wearing them someday?” The thought was delicious, no matter how exhausted he was.

“For you? Absolutely,” Bard chuckled.

“Mm, I’ll remember that.”

“Good. Careful, though. If I like them too much, I might end up on stage with you,” Bard teased.

“You say that as if that wouldn’t draw more of a crowd than _Erebor_ has ever seen before,” Thranduil snickered, giddy at the thought. He yawned and closed his eyes, sleep already calling to him.

Bard followed close behind, murmuring, “In that case, I’d better find a suitable costume. Luckily I’ve already got you to show me how to burlesque.”

_In dreams they danced._


End file.
